Cinnamon Sugar
by Whiteface Spades
Summary: Little bits of sweet Laven smut for you to enjoy. This serves as a sort of dumping ground for the drabbles that I write and desire to publish; they don't follow any sort of plot. They're all just...cute. Enjoy! Some are rated for language.
1. Sugar

_((A/N: This is little more than silly, smutty little bits of Laven. It isn't even a story, really. Just some pretty-sounding words from Lavi and Allen's points of view._

_Disclaimer: I DO NOT own DGM. Just like to write about it~))_

Cinnamon Sugar

A DGM FanFiction by Whiteface Spades

[ ].::.[ ].::.[ ]

**Chapter 1: Sugar**

**Lavi's POV**

Allen Walker and I haven't been together for very long, but I already know so many little things about him that I would need an entire day to explain them all. His soft, gentle nature and innocent quirks belie seductive intent and almost animalistic passion. Reluctant as he is to be intimate with me, once his fire is ignited there is no extinguishing it.

In typical Allen fashion, he has found some sort of food to liken our union to: cinnamon sugar. I am, apparently, the 'cinnamon' that he craves; and to me, he is our sugar. His beautiful smile, his soft hair, his sparkling silver eyes…everything about him is crystalline, smooth, and sinfully sweet. I have never experienced anything quite like his kiss, his touch, or the feeling of his smooth skin against mine…all white, luscious, wonderful.

I love him. I love the feeling of his slender waist between my forearms or in my hands while we sway back and forth to the music in his head; his delicate hands digging well-manicured nails into my skin when I make love to him; and his soft voice whispering in my ear while we lay together after hours of intense pleasure. All of him is as sweet as sugar.

God, I need him. To think that I had ever considered a woman over him makes me laugh; he is so beautiful, so perfect, so…sacchariferous (couldn't resist dipping into my Bookman vocabulary). No woman could ever be this way. I fall on my knees every day only to worship that sweet, sinful body of his. Everything he is consists of that sweetness, right down to the sweat that drips from his forehead when he rides me. The soft promises that fly from his lips; the way my name sounds tumbling off his tongue when I push deeper into him; and those naïve touches along my shoulders, face, and back as we calm our racing heartbeats…all these little things give even more syrupy sweetness to our relationship.

To me, no spice is needed: I can live on his sweet nature alone.

It's a rant that I just…can't stop giving. Allen Walker is sweeter than any candy, pastry, dessert, or drink. His soft voice is more wonderful than the sweetest tea. Gazing into his star-lit silver eyes is more rewarding than the cream-filled center of an éclair. His beautiful white hair smells sweeter than spun sugar…and every flick of my tongue along his slick cock sends the smallest sparks of sugar dancing along my tastebuds. His beautiful moans and soft, sweet pants are more food for my existence, fueling the fire that ignites in me each time our bodies touch. Even the smallest kiss can push me over the edge, driving me to make us unite in some small way; I must be assuaged. I can't staunch the desire to taste that sweetness in his saliva, his words, his skin, and his touch.

This boy is all that I need to survive. Allen Walker is the sweetest creature on earth.


	2. Amour dans la mort

_[[ A/N: So, my Lavi muse has died.  
>My cosplay partner and at-the-time-girlfriend ended up leaving me. She was the Lavi to my Allen.<br>Do I feel like shit right now?  
>Yes.<br>So here is a shitty little bit of Allen without his beloved. Pardon the crap. ]]_

**Amour dans la mort  
><strong>**. L o v e . I n . D e a t h .**

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

I could feel my world crumbling as I slammed the door to my room and locked it. I took a moment to stand there, hands pressed against the unyielding wood, feeling the cold and praying that it would remind me that there was something real left here. The only thing it proved to me was that I was here, and that he was not. The thought tore a desperate sob from my throat, which multiplied into an endless stream of gasps and tears. I fell to my knees, gripping my chest with both hands as I tried desperately to calm my haphazard breathing; the tears kept falling, dotting the cold stone floor like raindrops on the cobblestones of a London street. I could hear Lenalee outside, her voice muffled by the heavy door; she was begging for me to speak to her, I knew it. I did not want to. She had enough crap to deal with outside of mine.

In time, I knew that I would pick myself up off of the floor.  
>I would get up like the miserable brat that I am, and I would crawl to my bed.<br>I would lay there, tears in my eyes, crying out to the emptiness of my dark bedroom, desperate for some solace.  
>Then after laying there for a few hours, I would get up again and start writing. Furiously. I would put pen to paper and scorn the man who left me. I would get all my honest thoughts<br>Because that was all that I could do.

* * *

><p>In time, I had healed. A bit. Just enough to go back out on missions. But still, life was draining. I didn't really want to live it anymore...<p>

I had found a small amount of solace in my writing, however. I spent lots of time doing it. But by now, it was all sounding the same…

'_I thought I was strong enough..._

_But I am not.  
>I need help.<em>

_Perhaps I should finally get the medication that my comrades say I need to be taking…but I am scared. I am scared to have to go to a therapist. I am scared to have to tell someone about the Hell in my head. I do not wish to burden anyone with my troubles, but this pain is too strong: it has threatened my life multiple times._

_I can honestly say that at this point, I am dying. It is no one's fault; just my own for being so weak and pathetic. Too much has happened to me at once for me to desire anything other than relief from this ache. It hurts, but I'm scared to get help…_

_What do I do?_

_I need you now…'_

I put down the pen and sighed, running a hand through my messy hair. I quickly stuffed the paper away in a drawer, hoping somewhere in my cluttered mind that I would never find it again. After a few moments in the silence of my small, stuffy room, I could hear frenzied voices downstairs. Something about akuma, probably. I knew they were calling for me; "Where's Walker? Get him down here!" I pulled back, adjusted my uniform, and pulled open my door.

I didn't want to look unprofessional when I met my end.

_[[ A/N: Sorry if it's unbearably sad. I just…the Allen in me typically has fits of depression. Lavi's disappearance didn't really help that. :/ But I pray that in time, Allen and I will both be okay…_

_Sorry for the shitty story, guys. I promise better stuff will come out of me soon. ]]_


	3. Contritione Cordis

_[[ A/N: Wrote this after one of my girlfriends broke up with me. Figured it was fitting, since she roleplayed Lavi. Poor Allen…please pray for him._

_**Disclaimer:**__I do not own anything within other than the words. C:_

_**WARNING: **__Neah is actually helpful. But to his own end, as usual. ]]_

**Contritione Cordis  
><strong>**. T h e . B r e a k i n g . O f . A . H e a r t .**

-~*[ Allen Walker's POV]*~-

All I remembered was agony. I was in so much pain that I could not move, speak, or even breathe. All I could do was lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, my heavy, aching heart beating slowly, barely enough to keep me alive. My mind was racing, playing back the memories of you and I together, reliving each touch, each laugh, each whispered word of adoration.

It hurt. It hurt so badly that I wanted to cry, but no tears welled up in my eyes. Struggling against the pain enveloping my senses, I raised my left hand to the ceiling, reaching out to the God whom I was supposed to believe in.

"Help me…!"

My voice was soft, broken, depressing, almost not my own. I stared at the glittering cross embedded in my hand, hoping somewhere in the dark sorrow surrounding my mind that it would comfort me. As though my Innocence heeded me, it gave a bright flash and began its invocation, the heavy black claws and supple white cloak forming where they belonged. The silver mask slid down over my eyes as the crowned hood settled onto my head; I stared through the eye holes of the mask, watching my clawed hand reach for the heavens beyond my ceiling. Pathetic. Weak. Alone. Scared. My mind, reeling in despair and pain, chanted a mantra of loneliness and agony, tying me to that bed and what had happened in it.

'We' was all that I had. The concept of 'us,' of what you and I had made, drove my actions. I knew I would have to try to grasp the concept of 'me,' of 'I,' before I could come to terms with your absence. Loving you…it was everything to me. I wanted to be by your side; be it as your friend or your lover, I _**needed**_ you in my life.

Your rejection had hurt me.

At the memory of that day, the much-needed tears pricked at the backs of my eyes. I felt the sting of your words, each sentence driving into my broken heart like a dagger.

"_No more, Allen. No more."_

The tears overflowed, wetting my cheeks beneath my mask. Sobs ripped from my aching lungs, the deplorable sound making me feel even worse for myself. I rolled over onto my side and curled into a shivering ball of tears, claws, and fur, clutching my head in my palms as my cries continued.

Each day since then had passed the same: nervous, sad, and afraid. Inside I had been hoping that you would come to see me, but I always knew that you weren't man enough. I had tried every possible way to escape my feelings or change my heart, but nothing had worked. All that I could do was chase you, hoping that one day you would talk to me. That night, as I cried and screamed myself hoarse, I asked myself the questions that everyone else had: "Why do you do this? Why? Why suffer like this?"

"…why stay in love with this man?"

* * *

><p>Allen Walker looked out the window in silence, watching the rain drip down the windowpane. His gray eyes were blank, emotionless; they stared out at the scene playing out beyond the glass with little interest.<p>

People ran inside the building, trees shivered under the rain and breeze, and umbrellas were popping open above those who dared to be outside. Allen watched every motion with disinterest, his attention clearly elsewhere. His friends were milling around behind him, talking and laughing amiably. Allen, however, wanted no part of the conversation. His mind was focused elsewhere, on deeper and more serious things.

Outside the window, his ex was standing in the rain. There was no mistaking his red hair.

Allen glared down at the Bookman-in-training, silver eyes harsh and unforgiving. How dare that redhead show up here? How dare he? After all that he had said, all that had transpired between them since Lavi had left him-!

And inside the whitehead's mind, Neah Walker smiled and said: "Let me out."

Allen caved, hiding his broken heart behind the aloof mystique of his inner Noah. He couldn't take the frustration, the ache, the heartbreak of being forbidden from being Lavi's comrade. Friendship meant a lot to the younger Exorcist; denying it to him was very harsh, the cruelest punishment.

And so Neah led Allen away from the window and down the hallway. The Noah would defend the younger boy from further pain by destroying his feelings, regardless of their depth in his heart.


	4. In Which Allen Walker Rants on Love

_[[ A/N: In which Allen Walker delivers a lecture about the proper way to love. C: Written in response to some pissy messages on Facebook in which some n00b tried to tell me that I hadn't loved my ex girlfriend properly. Bitch, I know what it is to love. So here it is, delivered to some stupid bitch in the eloquent manner of Allen Walker. C: Enjoy~! ]]_

**In Which Allen Walker Rants on Love**

-~*[ Allen Walker's POV ]*~-

Ah, love.  
>It is so silly.<br>Something so…how can I put it for you?  
>A chemical? Yes.<br>An honest emotion? Too much so.  
>A lie? Perhaps.<p>

Love.  
>How can I break it down for you?<br>How can I make you understand?  
>…let us go back to grade school, shall we?<br>I shall model it for you.

**L**oyalty: faithfulness to commitments or obligations.  
><strong>O<strong>penness: being open; not closed or barred.  
><strong>V<strong>irtue: moral excellence; goodness; righteousness.  
><strong>E<strong>ndearment: an action or utterance showing affection.

All relationships have to have the following: patience, trust, honesty, affection, compassion, kindness, and a willingness to communicate. There are probably more things…but that is all that Mana told me about. At least, all that I can remember. Apparently, I have a certain naivety to me that forbids me from understanding the so-called 'true' depth of love that you claim I'm missing out on.

However. I know the difference between 'love' and 'lust'. Between 'love' and 'infatuation'. Between 'love' and 'desire'.

I never once thought to use you.  
>I never once thought to hurt you.<br>I never once thought to consider another person.  
>I never once thought to go to someone else for what you gave me.<p>

Love…is not born of sex.

Love comes from the **h e a r t** .  
>From the <strong>s o u l<strong> .**  
><strong>From t e a r s shed during nights spent **a l o n e** and **a f r a i d** .  
>Don't you <strong>s e e<strong> ?

And you…you, Bookman Junior…you do not have a heart.  
>And some days, I refuse to believe that you have a soul.<br>And I know that you do not spend your nights crying and (much less) alone.

_So how** dare** you accuse me of not knowing how to love?_


	5. Vulnus

_[[ A/N: Wrote this little bit of pain from a dream that I had a few weeks ago. This is where I must apologize to our dear Allen…his innocent little muse typically gets very upset by these sorts of things. I imagine his assailant is the man who stole my girlfriend from me. I don't really know who the woman is…all I know is that she's been in my dreams ever since I lost my Lavi._

_Review gently… ]]_

**Vulnus  
><strong>**. W o u n d .**

I didn't know what happened.

All I felt was the dull throbbing in the back of my head and the constricting feeling of the ropes on my wrists when I came to. I gave a soft whimper of fear, eyes glancing around the room in a frightened manner. Where was I? What had happened?

A man was standing at the base of the bed. I locked eyes with him, and he immediately crawled onto the mattress. Frightened, I tucked my legs up to my chest and tried to pull my arms to my sides, but my bound wrists only allowed me to move a small distance. He pulled my legs down and sat down on my hips (to prevent me from struggling, I assumed), then leaned forward to study my face. His breath reeked of cheap alcohol and old cigarette smoke, the smell making my stomach turn; I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting something to happen to me…would he strike me? Would he do worse?

"Start it."

My eyes flew open at the sound of a woman's voice. I leaned a bit to my left, looking in the direction of the voice: it was a woman whom I did not recognize, though she did remind me a bit f Eliade. Her brunette hair was stick-straight, pulled back in what may have been a cute half-ponytail away from her ears. Her clothes were far too tight and short for my taste, but I knew a certain rabbit who probably would have enjoyed them…

"What do you want…?" I asked softly. She did not answer me. But her male comrade answered me for her.

I cried out softly when he yanked my hair, pulling my head back to cast light onto my pale face. My eyes widened when I saw the flash of a pocketknife blade. That glinting metal sank into the scar tissue on my left cheek; I screamed. I screamed bloody murder. The grip on my hair forbade me from tossing my head or squirming away from that knife. He was whistling away as he dragged the blade down my cheek, following the lines of my scar. I wailed and wailed, screaming until my voice became scratchy and sore. I struggled against the ropes binding my hands, but could not find the strength to break them. That demonic blade dipped down along the flourish of my scar just below my eye, carving my skin open in one fluid stroke. He continued humming as he slashed up over my eye, splitting my eyelid and cutting into the meat of my eyeball. I screamed; he held my eye open as blood welled up in it, blinding me. He continued working his way up my face, eventually beginning to shave away the raised skin in the shape of a star on my forehead. I could feel the blood streaming down my face and neck, the slivers of my flesh that had been carved away dropping down onto my chest through my torn-open shirt, and the pieces of my pride and sanity being shaved off. What had I ever done to deserve this?

In despair, I began to cry. The salty tears poured down my cheeks, getting into the open wound and making it sting. Red streaks traced down from the corner of my eye as I cried, the tear streaks occasionally tracking through the river of blood on my cheek and revealing the pale skin and open wound beneath.

When he had finished, he sat back and admired his handiwork. My head lolled forward, blood spattering my crisp white shirt. I was drained from crying out and from the pain I had endured…but he was not done playing with me.

As his blade continued to kiss my skin, carving canyons and rivers into the plains of my chest and stomach to the song of my cries, the woman approached the side of the bed. She leaned down, stick-straight hair brushing my injured cheek, and whispered: "He is mine now. He will never be yours. So stay away from my Lavi, you little bastard."

When they were through torturing me, they left me, tied up and bleeding. My clothes had been torn open, my skin had been slashed, and my pride had been maimed. I was trembling, not only out of fear…but also out of anger. I eventually passed out, head leaning against the cold metal bed frame to keep the wound on my face from bleeding too much.

My revenge would be had.


	6. Iram

_[[ A/N: So. Allen got tired of writing depressed shit.  
><em>_Sooo here's an angry one for you!  
><em>_I was venting. Sorry this isn't very good._

_**Disclaimer: **__Still don't own anything. ]]_

**Iram  
><strong>**. A n g e r .**

I was acutely aware of my rage.  
>I felt it moving in my veins.<br>Alive. Breathing. **Consuming** me.

Oddly enough, it did not hurt. My vision went black, and all mercy and gentleness faded from my personality. My very mind went numb as sheer vehemence overcame me. I felt nothing but this venom.

All I wanted was to lash out, and I had finally snapped.

This man (they would all see him as 'innocent,' but I saw him as 'guilty'; after all, he was the one who had carved my face open like a Jack-o'-lantern a few weeks prior), shuffling drunkenly to his front door in sagging pants and a baggy T-shirt with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, would not be waking up in the morning.

My claws quickly found his shoulder, foot-long talons of solid black steel carving effortlessly through his muscle and skin. His scream made that insidious anger dance along my nerves, the euphoric feeling making a cruel smirk twist my pale lips. I ducked to dodge a wildly-thrown haymaker from his good arm, then stabbed the sharp ends of my claws into the flesh of his thigh. He screamed again; I had a bit of trouble dislodging my talons from his femur, but with a flick of my wrist and a bit of a kick upwards from my feet I was freed. He tried to deliver a front kick to my chest, but a graceful back flip saved me. As I came down, I lashed out at his foot, severing a few toes. He howled in pain.

By now, I had grown bored of his pathetic cries. I darted forward and dragged my claws along his throat; blood immediately poured from his torn flesh, splattering my pristine white sleeve, the front of my cropped jacket, and my white shirt. Some even got in my snow-white hair and onto my face. I listened to the bubbling garble of his severed vocal cords as the blood began to restrict his breathing, and the look of sheer horror on his face made me feel completely righteous in what I had done. I giggled softly, coldly, as his body sagged to the ground and he slumped forward, dead.

Dead.

My giggles turned to chuckles, and my chuckles became manic laughter as I tossed my head back, proclaiming my victory to the stormy sky above. I eventually turned my head to the blood-soaked body laying sprawled on the sidewalk and clutched my head with both hands, my claws drawing five lines of blood on my cheek and up into my hairline because I hadn't been careful with them, but the laughter didn't cease.

I had done it. I was finally rid of that darned naivety.

In the back of my mind, I wondered…who would be able to tame me now?

Would anyone acknowledge me?

…would **you**?

_[[ A/N: Hope it was angry enough for you! Some nice killing in there. I just felt that some revenge was needed, haha. Review gently! ]]_


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